


there's a niche in his chest where a heart would fit perfectly

by serpentking



Category: Naruto
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Soldiers, Dysfunctional Family, Established Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Senju Butsuma's A+ Parenting, Temporary Amnesia, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-06 12:11:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20291248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serpentking/pseuds/serpentking
Summary: Madara looks at him and sees the shadow of the man he’s grown to love. Tobirama looks back and all he sees is anenemy.[Tobirama gets de-aged into his seven-year-old self. It goes well for about as long as expected before peeling off self-imposed defenses starts bringing to light the fractures no one had known of, and there’s just so much they can do to keep the pieces from shattering altogether. When Tobirama had told him he’d beenborna soldier, Madara didn’t fully believe him, but maybe he should have.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm blaming this on my twin because she dragged me into Naruto hell again and I was too tempted by plot bunnies to be able to resist this
> 
> as all my ideas do, it's gotten out of control and it might end up... big. like, really. I apologize in advance <s>but I don't feel bad about it</s>
> 
> Title comes from Richard Siken's 'Road Music'.

It’s been two weeks.

_Two weeks._

Most of the time, Madara likes to think of himself as a reasonable person ― he’s easy to rile up, _yes,_ and even easier to blow up, but he’s not _unreasonable._ There’s just so much flailing from Hashirama he’s able to deal with, Izuna more often than not just needs an off time in the koi pond to stop being stubborn, he and Mito will never get along well, _ever._ Those are simple things of life ― things he understands and accepts (kinda) and can (mostly) deal with on a daily basis.

Tobirama’s always been a stray from the norm, and, though Madara will never surely know _when_ it started, he knows when he thought of it as such: when they started building up Konoha (which wasn’t even _named_ yet at the time) and he found himself being forced to interact with Hashirama’s little brother in a setting that didn’t involve a battlefield and bloodshed. Tobirama drives him _insane,_ has always done so ― from when he was just a faceless name, White Demon of the Senju, Izuna’s rival through and through, and Madara had to listen to his brother seethe about whatever it was the new trick that he had up his sleeve that time, to _later,_ when Tobirama managed to nitpick his every decision and opinion and make Madara feel _offended,_ to _now._

It’s been two weeks that Tobirama took off to do a research about ‘something important’ in his lab, something he hadn’t deemed necessary to talk about, and Madara has yet to hear from his partner ― which, being honest with himself, wouldn’t be something so _off-putting_ if it weren’t for the fact that not even _Hashirama_ has heard from his brother, not to deal with politics, not to deal with their plumbing system that has yet to work flawlessly, not to tease Izuna into oblivion through paperwork. That’s not to say they _can’t_ do the work just fine without him ― it’s not _easy,_ and it’s _definitely_ stressing, but, between Mito, Hashirama, himself and Izuna, Madara believes they manage the trouble ―, but, considering how much of a _workaholic_ Tobirama is, Madara thinks this is something worth working himself up over.

Even then. _Even then._ Tobirama not telling him about his research isn’t exactly something _new,_ and that’s never been a topic to cause trouble between the two of them. Madara understands Tobirama’s need for secrecy, if only the slightest bit; though the Senju is not afraid of failing, though he’s not afraid of not achieving his desired goals, it _does_ bother him when he’s not able to make something work as he intended it to. Madara’s no stranger to failure, but he knows how much Tobirama is _hard_ on himself, and his drive to do things is only one of the reasons Madara had been so insanely attracted to him after first putting aside old prejudices.

Which is not to say that he’s _happy_ about not being able to see Tobirama’s pretty face for _two weeks,_ but. Madara decides he’ll work with what he’s given, not with what he _wants_ ― it’s a limit he’s put to himself when they first started their relationship, not to ask for things Tobirama is clearly not willing to give, and, if push comes to shove, Madara _is_ a grown man, he _can_ deal with it.

Except, of course, when he can’t.

"This is getting ridiculous." is what Izuna moans dramatically, after they’ve spent _hours_ going through Tobirama’s sketches of the plumbing system, trying to both _understand_ and _see_ where things are going wrong, what they can do to fix it.

Madara loves his younger brother to hell and back, he really does, but, sometimes, he _does_ have the overwhelming urge to smack him, and right now is one of those moments. They’ve been going through this for almost three days already, and Madara’s heard more complaints in the last 48 hours than he’s heard during _the rest of his life._ If he has to hear any more whining about not being a water-release and how Izuna would prefere to be on a mission or anything like it, Madara’s going _off._

"You tell me." he massages his temples, an insistent building ache at the back of his head making it hard to concentrate enough for him to be able to read Tobirama’s neat scribblings.

He always gets stressed out when the man disappears like this, and Madara will deny his worry to _death,_ but _Kami_ how it makes him _sick._ It’s not much from being left in the dark as much as it is of _knowing_ how little Tobirama looks after his own health when he dives into something head-first. Not to say Tobirama doesn’t keep himself in pristine condition to fight another war if it ever comes down to it ― not that Madara _incentivates_ him at this, but there are certain things he knows it’s best to avoid picking a fight over ―, but everyone and their _dog_ knows he’s not very good at keeping a healthy schedule.

Madara knows Tobirama has an awfully hard time sleeping, but he doesn’t think working himself half to death should be the Senju’s default setting to dealing with it. They’d been working on it, Tobirama going home with him at reasonable hours and Madara trying to entertain him instead of letting him drown himself in work until his body shut off, because Tobirama had noticed Madara wasn’t particularly pleased about his habits, and they _did_ talk about it. Middle-ground involved Madara sometimes spending the night at the Hokage tower, working alongside his lover until sleep caught up with him, but most of the nights they had come _together_ to the Uchiha compound, and Tobirama _had_ been more than willing to compromise.

Up until two weeks ago, that is. Madara doesn’t think Tobirama’s doing it on _purpose_ ― he rarely ever does, unless they fought really bad about something and the man’s trying to keep his distance ―, but he _is_ getting worked up over this, and he’s not entirely sure how to deal with it.

Izuna, as always, has a nonsensical answer to _everything._

"Why don't you just go and kidnap him?” is what he asks, sounding more like his six-year-old self than the twenty-two grown-up he is. “It can't be _healthy_ to be locked in a lab for all this time, and Kami knows that guy doesn't have any regard for mortal needs like sleeping at reasonable hours and having a diet that doesn't consist solely on rice."

Madara puts down his papers, deciding that he’s done more than enough for the day, and looks at Izuna, trying to decide if it’s worth it to throw him at the koi pond or if he should leave if for later, when the younger riles him up beyond any reason. Moving right now sounds like too much work, so later it is.

"Have you ever tried keeping Tobirama from doing something he puts his mind to?"

Izuna pauses, face scrunching up in distaste.

"Fair point.” he concedes, but doesn’t let go of it, not yet. “Didn't he say it wouldn't take long, though?"

Tobirama _did_ say he wouldn’t take long to finish this new research ― which probably means he got caught up in some thing or another and completely forgot about the rest of the world. Thinking about it is as frustrating as it is _comforting,_ because Madara can’t quite get rid of the image of how Tobirama’s face lights up when he discovers something, when things work as he intended them to and when he manages to achieve whatever it is that he wanted to.

Just the thought of it is enough to ease a bit of tension off Madara’s shoulders, and he finds himself relaxing slightly, something warm spreading through his chest at the thought of Tobirama being content with something. He hadn’t seen the Senju smile a lot, before, and even now, _years_ after Konoha’s construction, it’s still sometimes hard to make him at ease enough to do so.

"Time is a concept that doesn't exist when he's with those experiments of his." is what he offers as a counterpoint.

_It never did,_ he almost says, but chooses not to. Tobirama's drive to make things _better_ ― not only for himself but for everyone else as well ― had been the first thing Madara noticed about him after putting aside his hatred-filled lens. The amount of time and _effort_ he dedicates to his researches and the workings of the village are things that Madara's learned to respect, to understand and, later on, _love_ about him ― they've never been things he wished to fight about, even though they _do_ annoy him sometimes. The annoyance is quick to fade once Madara realizes Tobirama's excitement over discovering things, over _creating_ them, and that's never been something to provoke problems in their relationship. Madara has no intent of letting it grow into something like it right now, even if he _is_ kinda pissed off.

He’s not the only one, if the way Izuna glares at him is anything to go by ― and his brother’s insistence on the matter _should_ make him feel disquietened, if only the slightest bit, but Madara’s _tired._ He hasn’t quite managed to sleep well the past four nights, and, without Tobirama around, he _does_ find it hard to deal with his anger in a positive way, because there’s no one else around to bicker until they’re throwing punches.

"What if something went wrong, though?"

"Izuna."

"Look, it's been _two weeks,_ ok? And wasn't his record four days? Wasn't he, like, basically hallucinating by the time he finally came back? What if he completely forgot to take care of himself again?"

Madara rises up his eyes to ask ― _plead,_ really ― for his brother to _just shut up already,_ because this isn’t a talk he wants to have right now, not when he’s just convinced himself having boundaries _is_ strictly necessary to keeping a healthy relationship. This has always been something hard, a concept that more often than not escapes from within his eager fingers ― Uchiha love with all they have or don’t love at all, and that type of devotion is not something they can easily ignore. To accept that there may be parts of Tobirama that the Senju doesn’t _want_ him to see, doesn’t want to _share_ ― that _had_ been a problem, and one it took them a while to get by, one that made him exhausted and Tobirama _upset._ Madara doesn’t want to go back to _pushing,_ not now, not _ever,_ and he doesn’t want _Izuna_ of all people incentivating him to do just that; he needs him to _understand_ or at least _respect_ that.

The look on his brother’s face, however, makes him stop dead in tracks, words dying on his tongue, because it’s not one Madara’s seen recently, even _more_ so after Konoha started prospering and Izuna was proven wrong in his stance about peace being unachievable. It’s the kind of expression he wore during _war,_ and it strikes Madara silent.

Izuna's _worried._ About Tobirama.

_Izuna’s worried about Tobirama._

Not to say that Madara thought Tobirama and Izuna would _never_ get along ― he might have said something like that at the _start,_ when the two bickered non-stop and he was going _crazy_ with the need to just kill them both, but... But not for a long while, already. When did that _change,_ though? Madara didn’t see it happening, didn’t really take notice, and catching up with it in such a situation doesn’t help it in the slightest.

There’s something akin to guilt rising up his throat, both for not realizing the growth both his lover and his brother have gone through and for not stopping to think about the possibility of something going wrong in Tobirama’s labs, but Madara’s an older brother first and foremost, and soothing Izuna’s distress is his priority above all else right now. He’ll make sure Tobirama hasn’t managed to injury himself this time as soon as given the chance, though.

“I will check up on him.” he promises, work all but forgotten, and tension slips off Izuna’s shoulders immediately.

“Ok.” is all he offers, but the _Thank you_ is clear in it as it would be if he’d said it out loud, and Madara’s never needed anything else. “Do you ― uh. Mind if I join?”

“Of course not.” _why would I,_ Madara wants to ask, and _did I ever,_ but he doesn’t think it’s needed. “Shall we go, then?”

Izuna’s out of his chair and standing before Madara’s even finished his sentence, and the gesture is as much worrying as it’s _sweet. _Madara follows suit, reaches out to ruffle his hair, more out of habit than anything else, and Izuna swats his hand away with a string of mumbled curses and a death glare that make one knot of worry deep within Madara’s guts untie itself swiftly.

One problem solved, just another to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I have more of this written? Yes. Is the outline completely fleshed out? Also yes. Do I have any intent of making a posting schedule to follow? No. That's hard and I might not stick to it, and I don't anyone to be disappointed when I eventually miss out a posting date D: I do promise it'll be finished, though, so there's that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The room looks like a _warzone,_ and there are things scattered _everywhere._ Scrolls, books, there’s a table turned and ― shit. _Shit._
> 
> _A body,_ Izuna’s mind supplies, unhelpfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh well hELLO THERE LOVELIES ♡
> 
> i'm blown off???? by the positive response i've gotten so far???? you're all AMAZING and FANTASTIC and I'M FLOORED, SUFFERING, so jot that down
> 
> I'm really grateful for such a warm, bright welcome, and I'd like to thank you all for being so kind to me ♡

The thing about Tobirama is that he’s a paranoid bastard and Madara loves him all the more for it ― which wouldn’t be nearly as funny as it is weren’t it for the fact that Tobirama’s as socially apt as a _rock_ and Madara _still_ manages to flail around him and make a fool out of himself even in the most simple of the situations.

There’s nothing simple ― or funny ― about having to dismantle half a world of traps and dodging the other half just to see his brother acting as if this is a _common_ event; as if deadly machinery and Tobirama’s evil mind are nothing short of _amusing._

Izuna curses all the way to Tobirama’s lab, and then some more when they enter it, because it’s basically an _invasion_ and Izuna can practically _see_ his brother falling more in love as he stares at the poison-filled senbon that would’ve _certainly_ been a problem to both of them, were they not so inclined to come inside with their Sharingans spinning.

“Quiet down your love, will you?” Izuna teases, just a bit more at ease than he was half an hour prior ― enough so to make fun of his older brother. “I can _see_ little hearts popping around you, aniki.”

Which is just the way of avoiding the pressing matter that Izuna’s _worried,_ but, well ― that’s not something he _has_ to admit out loud, not really, and it’s not like Madara will ever _demand_ it from him. Izuna will never admit it, either, but he’s _happy_ that his brother has found someone to love, even if this someone is his enemy-turned-rival-turned-ally-maybe-friend ― he’s happy that Madara’s finally felt comfortable enough to settle down, to _allow_ himself to pursue a relationship with someone, and Izuna’s just a tad too prideful to dwell too much on it, but, sometimes, he thinks he _is_ glad that Tobirama was the one Madara turned his affections towards.

He’ll deny it to _death,_ though, and Madara _definitely_ deserves some teasing for all the time Izuna had been forced to sit and hear him wax poetry about Tobirama.

“You’re ridiculous.” Madara scoffs, but the blush that rises up his face is enough to have Izuna sending him a smug smile.

“Am I really?” he teases, merciless, but his smile dies down slowly as they make their way further inside the lab. “Aniki, why does your boyfriend hate sunlight?”

Having the labs as far from Konoha’s civillian district and clan compounds was _definitely_ a good idea, because only _Kami_ knows what type of things Tobirama does here, but make it _underground?_ Izuna feels _claustrophobic,_ the raw earth making close to nothing to soothe him, and it’s only through sheer force of will and his brother’s presence at his side that he manages to stop himself from turning around and _leaving,_ worry be damned.

Madara scoffs at his question, grumbling under his breath something about ‘sensitive’ and ‘eyes’, and Izuna pays him no mind, something cold coiling at the pitch of his stomach the further they go and the quieter it gets. He takes a look at his brother, and Madara, too, has grown tenser the more they walk and the only thing greeting them is silence.

“Do you feel something?” Madara asks, voice a quiet murmur, and Izuna can’t quite find it in himself to answer, shaking his head in denial.

He knows what Madara’s talking about, but he hasn’t felt a single bout of Tobirama’s chakra ever since the explosive tags when they first breached the lab’s territory, and, though the traps against break-ins have gotten increasingly more creative while they entered, there wasn’t much else. Right now, there’s nothing tingling Izuna’s senses, no flare of familiarity, no anything that alerts him of his rival’s presence.

Izuna _does_ feel relief when they get to the end of a very long corridor and the lights seem to be on in a room with a half-closed door, though, because that can always mean the Senju’s fallen asleep in the middle of some exhaustive research of whatever it is that’s caught his attention this time. It doesn’t really smother the worry that’s grown increasingly since a few days ago, but it _is_ something to hold on to.

Judging from the way Madara’s features soften slowly, he’s not the only one. Both of them know better than to just barge in unnanounced into someone’s workplace, though, even more so _Tobirama’s_ workplace, and they stop by the door.

“Tobirama?” Madara knocks lightly, voice a tad quieter than his usual tone. “It’s me and Izuna.”

No answer. Izuna’s relief flies out an imaginary window. Madara’s face goes blank.

“We’re coming in, alright?” and, without waiting for an answer, he pushes the door open.

It’s both good and the worst decision he could take in the situation they’re in. A good one because it proves Izuna’s paranoia was not unfounded ― the worst possible because the room looks like a _warzone,_ and there are things scattered _everywhere._ Scrolls, books, there’s a table turned and ― shit. _Shit._

_A body,_ Izuna’s mind supplies, unhelpfully, and the world grows silent when he staggers back, a hand immediately covering his mouth to stop any sound from escaping.

He’s frozen in place, scrambling to gather himself together enough to act, but Madara has no hesitation when he rushes in without a single moment of hesitation, pushing aside the whole mess and everything in his way until he manages to find what lies beneath.

It’s Tobirama ― there’s no _mistaking_ it, the silvery hair, the slender frame, but _Kami,_ he’s _so terribly small, tiny hands and face and bony shoulders,_ fitting weirdly into his brother’s arms, and Izuna’s insides recoil in panic, mind scrambling to make sense of what he’s seeing, brain filled with white noise and growing alarm.

Tobirama is ― he is ―

“Izuna.” Madara’s voice is surprisingly _steady_ for the situation he’s in, but there’s no mistaking the shaking of his hands, his body, how he craddles Tobirama against his chest as if he’s going to _disappear._ “Call Hashirama. Call Hashirama _now!”_

Izuna takes one look at his brother’s horror-filled face, and then he’s _bolting._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is from a certain de-aged someone's pov 👀 and that's all I have to say 👀
> 
> Hope you liked it! See you soon ♡


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobirama’s a good sensor, has always been, and he’s been honing this skill for as long as he can _remember_ ― for his senses to be _overloaded_ for the point of him not even _noticing_ he’s not alone...
> 
> Pitch black eyes meet his own with interest and give him all the answers he needs to understand the predicament he’s in.
> 
> _Uchiha,_ Tobirama realizes, perhaps too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH WELL updating has been a bit easier than I thought it'd be lol
> 
> Also, I've said so already in the last notes, BUT I'll say it again: the amount of happiness it gives me to see you're liking the story so far cannot be put into words!!! ♡＼(￣▽￣)／♡

Tobirama’s entire body hurts.

He’s no stranger to pain, and that shouldn’t be, shouldn’t _feel_ nearly as horrible as it does, but ― Tobirama’s _entire body_ hurts. From the tip of his toes to the top of his head, there’s not a single place that doesn’t ache, that doesn’t _burn,_ and he struggles with it for all two seconds before, ultimately, realizing there’s very little he can do to change whatever it is that’s happened. Tobirama tries to do the sensible thing: to gather his thoughts and recount the events which led him here, which must’ve caused such a thing.

There’s the feeling of having forgotten something ― the one he gets when he doesn’t quite manage to hide Itama’s drawings for him and father finds them, or when he slips Kawarama his dessert (not because Tobirama doesn’t want it, but because his little brother always gets insanely _happy_ when he does so, and the feeling of shared camaraderie is too much for him to be able to resist making that easy concession) and forgets to cover their tracks so father won’t realize Kawarama had his share twice. It’s something unsettling, squeezed in the space between his ribs, clawing and thrumming from under his skin, unquiet, unwilling to let him at ease.

Tobirama draws blank.

He hadn’t been doing anything, as far as he remembers ― which isn’t much, sure, and that _certainly_ is a problem. The mere fact that Tobirama _can’t_ think of whatever it is that caused his entire body to feel like it’s on _fire_ should be enough to knock him into _action,_ to _force_ him to stand, to open his eyes and _move._ As it is, there’s very little energy in him to do so, and Tobirama’s body is all too slow to follow his brain, his struggle to push himself to full consciousness.

Opening his eyes up to the world isn’t any better than he thought it’d be, and, for a moment, the bright light _hurts_ ― more so than the way every piece of his entire _being_ recoils at the burning inside of him. Tobirama can’t quite hold back the small noise of pain, but he _does_ manage to push past it _(compartimentalize,_ he tells himself, because that’s something Tobirama _can_ do) to force himself to assess the situation, the place he’s in ― the white walls and bright lights and baby blue blanket covering him from the waist down.

_Healing room,_ Tobirama realizes, something numb inside his chest ― for the wounded and the fallen, not quite as much for children to play at or be around of. The first (and last) time Itama had hid in the medical place, father made sure none of them would ever _consider_ it again, and that’s not something Tobirama wants to think of. There are bits and pieces of memory coming back to him, small but enough, and he tries to paint the bigger picture, to see the missing puzzles and _understand_ what is it that’s missing.

Kawarama, he remembers, agony flaring up with enough force to knock the air out of his lungs, with a viciousness he hadn’t been expecting. Hashirama being his rebellious self, and father ― father was _pissed,_ wasn’t he? And Itama had been crying. Tobirama... Doesn’t quite remember what he did. Doesn’t remember what he said ― if he even said something, _anything._ Doesn’t remember if he was _supposed_ to. He remembers the taste of his brothers’ grief, anija’s mourning acrid and burning, Itama’s despair and how much his tears had made Tobirama’s insides _twist._

He tries to push himself into a sitting position, and is promptly startled at the hand that comes _out of nowhere_ to stop him ― there’s just minimal flailing from Tobirama’s part, for he just had the living hell scared out of him, and his eyes immediately turn to whoever it is that’s here and he _hadn’t even noticed._ Tobirama’s a good sensor, has always been, and he’s been honing this skill for as long as he can _remember_ ― for his senses to be _overloaded_ for the point of him not even _noticing_ he’s not alone...

Pitch black eyes meet his own with interest and give him all the answers he needs to understand the predicament he’s in.

_Uchiha,_ Tobirama realizes, perhaps too late, and his eyes widen minimally when he immediately turns his gaze the other way, focused instead on the guy’s lower face, mouth and chin, and horror strikes him like a kick to the guts. _He’s been taken_ ― but that doesn’t even make _sense._ Tobirama hadn’t... He hadn’t gone out, had he? He wasn’t willing to leave Itama’s side, not so soon, and anija had... What did anija _do?_ It’s important, Tobirama knows. _It’s important,_ and he _forgot,_ and now he’s taken and may as well never know.

_How did he end up here?_ Why haven’t they killed him yet?

(Tobirama knows the answer to that, but it’s not something he wants to think about, not right now, not when there’s a Kawarama-shaped hole in his chest that’s not going to be filled anytime soon, if ever. He’d thought himself _better_ than that. Being proven wrong isn’t nearly as wounding as it is _grounding,_ because Tobirama’s fully aware of what’s going to happen to him once they realize he’s not willing to trade secrets of his clan to keep his head in place. It’d be more terrifying if he hadn’t been aching so _bad_ already.)

“Easy there!” the guy ― _man_ ― says, and something flickers in his face, too fast for Tobirama to even begin _understanding,_ senses muddled by a cacophony of _wrong-hurts-too-much-too-painful._

Not that he needs to, anyway. There’s just a reason why he’d be _here,_ with an _Uchiha_ guarding his bed, and something akin to nausea rises all the way up to his throat, bitter and merciless ― unrelenting as it claws its way through his body. Tobirama tastes blood at the back of his throat, white noise filling his senses, and he _sees_ the Uchiha’s mouth moving, forming words that are certainly directed to mock him, to _taunt_ him, and there’s not a single cell in Tobirama’s body that doesn’t tell him to _run._

He can’t feel _anything_ but pain ― anything but the growing pit at the pitch of his stomach, gnawing on his insides, horror and dread filling him up in the same measure, and it’s _bad._ It’s ― it’s worse than he thought it’d be, than he ever allowed himself to _consider._ But then the Uchiha reaches out, as if to _touch_ him, and Tobirama’s struck by the sudden realization that he’s _free._

Not bound. Not chained. They haven’t even _tried_ tying him to the bed, and, though Tobirama is fully aware there’s _no way_ he’s taking down an Uchiha in his current physical state ― and an _older one_ at that, someone who’s probably accounted for his every injury while he was unconscious and knows _exactly_ what to do to knock him down if needed be ―, but his mind immediately zeroes on all the possibilities and what he can do to _fight back._

The Uchiha leans in, and the twist of his mouth suggests a smile ― not a mocking one, but it’s not like Tobirama’s _paying attention_ to anything other than his _hand _―, there’s just a moment to gather his muddled thoughts before he’s lashing out, senses hayware, entire body overwhelmed with pain and the urge to _fight._ When Tobirama somehow _manages_ to land a blow, he doesn’t stop to _think_ about what to do next ― he’s vaguely aware of a loud string of curses directed at him, and how his legs are too weak and trembling for him to be able to go _far,_ but Kami curse him if Tobirama’s not going down _kicking._

He’s halfway out the door when his body slams into another, sturdier, _stronger,_ and the sheer impact of it has him stumbling back, nausea washing over him, the world swirling horribly as he struggles to catch up. Tobirama has no time to recover from it before there are hands reaching out to him again, and, this time, they manage to get him, to _hold_ him, fingers digging painfully onto Tobirama’s shoulders.

_Uchiha,_ he knows, deep down in his bones, with a certainty that knocks him completely off balance, suported only by the older man’s arms, how he secures him in place with apparently no intent of letting go. Tobirama knows he has no chance of fighting back, no chance of _resisting,_ and there’s just so much he can do before he _breaks._ He’s a child, he’s got no access to his chakra and he’s _unarmed._ There are no weapons avaible, Tobirama can’t even _sense_ his chakra, and the world’s blurred into black and white and red shapes.

_Is this how Kawarama felt,_ a tiny, horrified part of himself questions him, and Tobirama’s heart goes up in flames with pure, unadultered _terror_ at the thought. His brother, seven feet down on earth. His baby brother, at the mercy of an Uchiha killing squad ― and no one had mercy for him, he knows that much, as they certainly won’t have any for Tobirama. He remembers, all too vividly, the taste of ash and copper on his tongue when Kawarama’s chakra signature had gone out, slowly, _painfully_ and how he’d _known,_ and Hashirama’s refusal to _listen,_ how anija had _refused_ to listen until they received ― until Kawarama’s body had ―

Panic seizes him up.

Tobirama screams and trashes and kicks and _bites,_ vicious, until the taste of blood in his mouth is not just his own, until his every bone _aches_ with the struggle to keep up with his efforts, body unable to react accordingly to what he wants it to. Tobirama doesn’t mind nearly as much as he would, were it any other situation ― he would have cared if he were at _home,_ if father had been _here,_ if Hashirama’s sorrow-filled eyes were on _him,_ but there’s _nothing_ to hold him back, there’s _nothing_ to stop him from getting _dirty,_ from _allowing_ himself to.

Doesn’t mean it’s any easier when Tobirama finds himself subdued, though, pushed down, knees buckling under the pressure and hitting the ground with a painful thud, his wrists tightly held behind his back to stop him from flailing once more. Tobirama _tries,_ he really does, but there’s just so much energy left and his body gives up on him _entirely,_ shaking in a mix of _exhaustion_ and _horror._

Any moment now, he knows. Any moment now and the playful act will fade ― they’ll stop _holding back,_ they’ll kick him down and _keep_ him down, because, as far as Tobirama’s aware, there’s no reason for it _not_ to work like this, for anything to stray from what’s _expected._ There are no mercy kills from Uchiha, father’s always drilled it to his mind ― not if they can take some kind of information from their prisoner, and Tobirama _knows_ he has a valiant amount of it. Not that it would _matter_ if he didn’t, because, being Butsuma’s son, his head is certainly worth something to them ― bragging rights, if anything. Another fallen Senju to the growing number of deaths, and just another body to go into a too-tiny casket ― but, as selfish as it is, Tobirama’s at least _glad_ he won’t have to deal with the aftermath of it, not this time.

He mourned for Kawarama as he would for any of his brothers and there’s no part of him that’s not somewhat _content_ at not living enough to see the rest of this, of the war, of all this reign of blood and power ― not living enough to see Itama being sent to the battlefield, and the marks of Butsuma’s teaching marring Hashirama’s skin and mind. Anija’s always been the strongest of them, the easiest to smile and the hardest to rile up, and Tobirama blames himself for the knowledge that his death by the hands of an Uchiha, so closely tied to Kawarama’s, might be what pushes Hashirama to their father’s side indefinitely ― it might be _used_ as such, as a grounding anchor to keep him chained to their father’s ideals of war and bloodshed.

_Selfish, _Tobirama tells himself again, but he doesn’t want to be just another weapon for father to take the dream of peace out of Hashirama’s hands ― to pry it from mournful fingers, when it’s all that’s Hashirama’s ever held on to, for all this time. He wishes he could say goodbye, if only to reassure Hashirama that this is not his fault, that there’s nothing he could’ve done, nothing he could’ve _said_ to avoid this ― that Tobirama had wanted to live enough to see his dream prosper, to see his hopes reached and goals achieved, that he’d wanted to be by anija’s side when it happened, a pillar to the foundation of his growing dreams, but this is just another childish thought that won’t do him any good in the long run.

Tobirama doesn’t welcome death, not really, but he’s _resigned_ with it, he _knows_ no other future awaits him with the Uchiha ― it’s either death or complete madness, and Tobirama likes to tell himself he’ll always have a choice if it comes down to it; he _is_ a shinobi, after all, he was _taught_ what to do, how to proceed, and he _knows_ it’s the only logic course of action.

He’s never been a very good liar.

With his eyes closed and senses muddled by exhaustion and the dizzying sensation of giving his all in a fight that he was fated to lose ― and _miserably_ at that ―, Tobirama manages to start pushing his mind away from the situation he’s in, to raise walls and defenses he knows won’t do _shit_ against Sharingan-wielders. It’s still something of a comfort, and he clings to it with all he has, _refusing_ to crack, to allow himself to go down without at least making sure they _will_ be _forced_ to push him.

Except that the push never comes. The pain, the kicks, the horrors Tobirama was none too eager to face ― it _never_ comes, and he’s left in silence, the only sound in the room his own heavy breathing, the panicked thump-thump of his heart rushing through his ears, his blood on _fire._ It’s not really what Tobirama had been expecting, but that’s not to say he’s _happy_ with it, because pain, altough unwanted, is something he _can_ deal with, something he _can_ face and overcome, if not properly then at least out of spite. This? There’s no protocol for this.

“Tobirama.”

There’s a hand against his back, between his shoulder blades, and Tobirama’s entire body shakes with the effort not to flinch away from it, not to try and _lash out_ at it ― because he’s got no chance, not any more than he already did before, and pain, inevitable or not, is not something Tobirama wants more of. His stomach _churns,_ and he’s starting to consider the possibility of having been poisoned.

It’d explain the weakness and the trembling limbs and the aching places ― but there’s no heaviness lodged within his chest, stopping him from breathing, there’s no immediate urge to clean himself, to _free_ himself from anything. It wouldn’t explain the _other_ aches, either, the burning of exhaustion, the horrible headache, the uncooperativeness of his own body. Is it possible that they may have drugged him while he was unconscious, though, so there’s that ― Tobirama knows there’s no way for him to end up in a _good_ shape.

_“Tobirama.”_

At the sound of such a familiar voice, Tobirama’s eyes snap open against his will, and he finds himself looking up, searching, dreading, _fearing ―_

Father’s staring at him from the door, eyes wide with what seems to be _shock,_ and self-consciousness runs through Tobirama’s entire being like a blade, vicious and _cruel._ Father is ― tall. Taller than Tobirama remembers him being, and there’s something off about his eyes, but ― but it doesn’t _matter,_ does it? In the grand scheme of things. Father’s here, and the Uchiha have Tobirama, and father’s not ― father wouldn’t ―

Father’s not going to save him when Tobirama should’ve been able to do that on his own, because it’s what he’s been _taught_ to ― it’s the reason father always pushes him so far, so fast, it’s why he’s so _strict_. Father’s like this with the others, too, Hashirama more than most, but Tobirama’s always found himself following without really being able to put up a fight, because that’s what he’d been _born_ to do. A weapon to Hashirama’s power, Butsuma’s soldier through and through.

Father’s eyes on him right now let it very clear what he thinks of Tobirama for letting himself be caught in such an extenuating circumstance.

_Dirty,_ his mind offers, cruelly, and it sounds so much like father’s voice Tobirama’s entire body grows still. _Dirty and bloodied and **beaten.** Do you think father’s going to be **proud?**_ He doesn’t. _He doesn’t._ Father’s never proud, these days ― hasn’t been proud of _anyone_ since Hashirama’s showed prowess with Mokuton, hasn’t quite managed to look at them the way he did when Okaa-san had been alive because ― because Hashirama gave him a weapon out of reach from Uchihas’ hands, and that’s not something that can be _beaten,_ not by Tobirama, not by anyone but Hashirama himself. Anija gave their father something to fight with, a power no one else will have ― unwilling, unwanted, but none of them has ever been able to deny Butsuma anything, and they probably never will.

Tobirama wants to be sick. When father looks at him, when he _approaches,_ and his eyes are still so _wide_ ― his stomach churns, viciously, bile rising up his throat, and Tobirama’s vision goes blurry with the effort he puts into fighting back the tears. Father never likes it when they cry, will never do, and that’s the fastest way of being punished ― Tobirama knows he will be, but it’s a matter of not wanting to make things _worse._

The Uchiha don’t make mercy killings, but his father just might, and that’s not really a situation which Tobirama would find himself to be _against._

“Tobirama?” father sounds ― different. _Strange,_ but not quite so. There’s something weird about the tone of his voice when calling Tobirama’s name, when talking to him. It’s not ― _bad._ It’s not bad, but it’s not good either, and Tobirama _refuses_ to do something so foolish as _hope._ “What’s ―”

Father reaches out, and all coherent thoughts escape the Senju.

Tobirama flinches back, more instinct than anything else, and, at the silence that falls upon the room, he knows he’s fucked up ― _bad._ Father’s never quiet, these days. _Never._ He’s always talking or screaming and _god,_ how Tobirama wished he’d _stop,_ but that’s never been ― Tobirama’s never tried making it stop because he’d known ― shit. _Shit._ With his entire body _shaking_ with the effort it takes from him to merely _move,_ Tobirama tries to hold himself straight with his hands, even if they falter and almost send him crashing down face-first to the floor. If it weren’t for the steady hand against his back, clutching at his shirt, Tobirama _would_ have fallen, and that’s not something he wants to think about.

_Helped by an Uchiha,_ the cruel part of him whispers, _taunts_ him for it, because that’s a _weakness,_ and something he can’t afford to have right now. Tobirama swallows down the pain, the horror, the grief, bows until his entire _being_ screams in discomfort, burning searing through his muscles and nerves with no small amount of malice. It’s hard, it’s _horrible,_ but many things have been and many things _will_ be, and Tobirama’s not willing to let himself break just yet, not so soon, not _ever_ if he has any say in it.

_What do you think he’s going to do with you?_

“Father.” Tobirama greets him, carefully neutral, respectful, voice rough, and it _hurts_ to say it, scratching all the way up until it’s out of his mouth, but he says it anyway because he knows it’ll be _worse_ if he doesn’t.

Father’s never taken kindly to disrespect, but Tobirama’s clear display of it makes him _gasp?_ And Tobirama’s left scrambling to gather his thoughts, not really understanding the emotions flaring in his father’s face, nor the way he seems to open and close his mouth, struggling to find something to say. A dumb part of Tobirama rises up at that, takes roots in his chest and spreads, childish hope that maybe his father’s not going to risk his life this time, not in he can help it ― and he _can._

A selfish part of Tobirama wishes he would. He knows it’d be stupid if Butsuma did ― _why would he,_ when, as far as Tobirama’s concerned, both anija and Itama are alive and _well?_ It’s a matter of considering the risks, and Tobirama _knows_ they’re not worth it ―, but _Kami,_ how he wishes father would.

The silence goes on, though, and there’s just so much Tobirama can do to keep the _hope_ out of his voice when he calls again, higher than before:

“Father?”

A muffled curse, and Tobirama’s painfully reminded that there are _two_ Uchiha here ― father may be a skilled shinobi, the best of the Senju until Hashirama starts getting creative with his Mokuton, but they _do_ have some kind of leverage, don’t they? Father wouldn’t be ― he wouldn’t _sacrifice_ Tobirama just for the sake of it when he can _stop_ it from happening, right? The fact that Tobirama has no answer to that makes his heartbeat rise, panic thrumming under his skin.

He’d been ready to die, not _willing,_ but ― _ready._ He’d choose it over ever _considering_ the possibility of betraying his clan, his anija, his otouto, the memory of Kawarama’s smile printed in the back of his eyelids, flashing brightly whenever he as much as closes his eyes. He’d do the best for them, _because_ of them, and die a miserable death to make sure no one would’ve been able to use him against his brothers. Father being here _changes_ that, and Tobirama doesn’t _want_ to die.

It’s not his call to do, but _Kami,_ does he _hope._

“He thinks you’re his...” a sharp intake of breath, and then a muffled: “Oh, fuck.”

_Oh, fuck,_ indeed. Tobirama doesn’t understand what’s going on nor why he’s here, but he _knows_ the way father’s features soften isn’t _good,_ because it’s _uncommon,_ because he has no idea what it _means,_ because he has no idea how to _deal_ with it. Father’s not trying to reach out to him, not again, and, though that’s _also_ weird, Tobirama can’t quite find it in himself not to feel _relieved_ by it.

He doesn’t want to die, but he doesn’t want the punishment that comes from being saved, either. He doesn’t want to be punished when he had no other _choice_ ― and, because father’s presence is possibly the only thing holding the Uchiha back from killing or torturing him on spot, there’s very little Tobirama can do to fight the conflicting feelings raging war under his skin.

To be saved means he was weak enough to let himself get captured ― and _how_ that came to be Tobirama still doesn’t know, doesn’t _remember,_ and it should worry him more than it does right now, but it doesn’t. To be left behind is certain death, painful as nothing he’s ever lived through before, and, shinobi or not, Tobirama’s not able to smother back the spike of fear that rises above all else.

Given enough time, maybe he would. As it is, the best he can do is put all his effort into keeping a straight face, even when father kneels before him, reaching out but not really, hands just shy of touching him. Tobirama both wants to throw himself at him and turn the other way ― pain is promised in both, but it all depends on ruthlessness, and he’s not quite sure what his father will do if he thinks Tobirama’s spilled clan secrets before he showed up.

It’s a risk to be taken, though, and Tobirama realizes that soon enough. No punishment, no pain, no _nothing_ will ever top coming home to his brothers ― nothing will stop him from fighting tooth and nail for anija’s dreams and hopes, for Itama’s happiness and _safety._ There’s nothing Tobirama wouldn’t give up for his brothers, so he meets his father’s stare head on, unwilling to cower, unwilling to back down, to _give in._

“Tobi.” is what Butsuma says, very, very quietly, and it strikes Tobirama as _odd,_ because father’s never called him that, always said it to be too _childish,_ and Hashirama had been more than eager to make it a secret amongst brothers, ‘Tobi’ whispered behind closed doors and childish giggles, playful banter and games they weren’t supposed to be playing at all. “_Tobi,_ don’t you remember me?”

What is he _talking_ about? Tobirama wishes he could reach out with his chakra, make sure this isn’t a genjutsu, make sure he’s not already being played with, but he tries and meets ― nothing. _Nothing._ There are just echoes of pain and aching wounds and a grief he hasn’t yet touched and doesn’t plan on doing, confusion making him falter. If this isn’t his father, if this is just an illusion ― Tobirama _did_ look an Uchiha in the eye, even if the guy hadn’t been wielding the Sharingan at the time ―, how can he make _sure_ that he’s not doing something _wrong?_

Father would never forgive him if he did. Anija would be _disappointed,_ and Itama heartbroken. Tobirama doesn’t want that.

“I ―” he pauses, licks his lips, tries not to flinch away again when father’s fingers come too close from his face. “I do not understand, father.”

Father’s eyes flicker to the Uchiha holding him down, and Tobirama’s heart threatens to leap out of his chest right here and right now.

“Madara, let him go.”

It’s an order, there’s no mistaking it ― father’s voice is tight and heavy with something Tobirama can’t name, an emotion he doesn’t think he’s ever seen in his father’s face before, and it worries him nearly as much as everything else did. There’s also the fact that the hand against his shirt tightens, a hold that would be _painful_ were it anywhere in Tobirama’s body, and another one comes to rest on his shoulder.

The gesture grounds him as much as it reminds him he’s being held _hostage_ ― it’s a threat as much as it’s a sign of _claim._ Tobirama wouldn’t be able to stop himself from shaking even if he were _trying,_ and, as things are, there’s not much left in him for it.

“Hashirama...” the man behind him starts, and stops, clearly struggling with something, and Tobirama’s stomach _drops._

That’s his brother’s name. His _anija’s_ name. For the man to know it, to use it with such _familiarity_ ― Tobirama’s barely even _trying_ to stop himself from panicking, and, this time, his shaking has very little to do with exhaustion. Do they have anija as well, is that what this is about? Are they trying to make a _trade? _Tobirama’s life’s not worth anija’s, will never be, and father being here...

_Tell them to keep me,_ Tobirama pleads at the back of his mind, looking at his father, urging him to stop this madness. _They can keep me. Get anija. Anija’s important. Tell them to keep me._

All his efforts are fruitless, for father’s eyes never stray from the mand holding him, _threatening_ him, and Tobirama’s barely a moment away from _crying._

“Please.” is what Butsuma says, and Tobirama takes in a sharp breath, _horrified._ For father to plead for something ― for him to so clearly _beg..._ No. _No._ _“Please,_ let him go.”

_No,_ Tobirama wants to say, when the hands retreat, leaving him to his own devices. _No, no, nonono ―_ and all thoughts come to a screeching halt when father reaches out just in time to stop him from toppling to the floor in a pathetic display of weakness, arms wrapping around Tobirama’s frame, covering him entirely. It startles him into quietness, alert, and Tobirama tries almost too hard not to flinch back, because he’s aware it’d be foolish.

Butsuma holds him close, dearly, and his hands rubbing Tobirama’s back are... _Comforting?_ Tobirama struggles to wrap his head around it, and it’s hard to speak through the lump that’s formed in his throat at the thought of his brother being taken captive by a clan that will have no hesitation to kill him ― to kill them _both._

“Father...?” and he trails off, unsure what to ask, what to _say._

But father doesn’t answer him, not _really_ ― he merely holds him tighter, presses a close-mouthed kiss against the top of his head, and Tobirama’s _terrified._ He can’t think of a single instance where his father’s treated him like this, even _less_ so where someone could _see it._ Butsuma’s never been a loving father, he’s never doted on him or his brothers, never _pampered_ them, convinced that a life of care and luxury would make them weak shinobi ― Tobirama _understands_ the need for distance, the need for silence and keeping a neutral expression even when facing the worst of things, and for father to so clearly _ignore_ it...

“You’re safe, Tobirama.” father tells him, voice quiet, so very quiet, and a weight’s lifted off Tobirama’s shoulders immediately. “You’re safe.”

Father would never have any reason to reassure him, of _anything_ ― which can only mean he’s keeping in mind that they’re being watched, and he _knows_ Tobirama hasn’t told anything, to anyone. A reassurance is both a reminder to keep in mind that this isn’t over, not really, but also ― Tobirama can’t help but think ― _hope..._ Maybe Butsuma’s trying to tell him something else.

Maybe the ‘Hashirama’ thing had been a fluke. Maybe this is all some kind of theatric thing Tobirama hadn’t known of and ended up being thrown at, without a choice in the matter, and now Butsuma’s just trying to give him a hint as to how to proceed. And, well.

Tobirama has no reason not to follow his father’s lead.

_(Believing_ him is another thing altogether, and that’s not something Tobirama’s able to do thoughtlessly.

The Uchihas’ eyes still burn on his back.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaand the plot thickens huaehuaehueu'
> 
> there are explanations to everything that happens and how things came to be, HOWEVER, it may take a while for them to be given, because, welp. as you can see, there are some pressing matters that have just blown up on everyone's faces, and they're not the kind of thing they can just push aside for now ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Hope you liked it! See you soon ♡

**Author's Note:**

> You can scream at me at @ [o-solemio](https://o-solemio.tumblr.com) on tumblr! :D


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